


the only hope for me is you

by saltytolerance



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ...for now, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, also YES i named this after an mcr song. what can i say i was Vibing when i wrote the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltytolerance/pseuds/saltytolerance
Summary: "Needless to say, the professor’s return had been… unexpected. Dimitri had long mourned his loss, tossed the grief to the funeral pyre that fuelled the ferocity of his fight. At first, he didn’t know how to reconcile this knowledge with himself. Didn’t know how to process such a thing, having learned by now that no good thing could ever last.He couldn’t let himself celebrate, despite the joy, so painfully sweet, singing within him. Joy that made him yearn to reach, to touch, to know he was real for certain. Before he, too, inevitably left. Again.He knew better than that, now."☾In which Dimitri Alexandre "I don't need help" Blaiddyd and the Professor both have issues, but over time learn to heal and ultimately make each other better people.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 46





	1. birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Just a few notes:  
\- I'm new at this! I haven't written for fun in about 5 years so! I'm a tad rusty :') So if you've any criticisms, please be gentle.  
\- I'm also pretty new at AO3 in general! I've only read a few fics and this is my first time writing one, so let me know if I manage to get anything wrong re: the technicalities of posting.  
\- The story starts around Part 2: Chapter 15 of the Blue Lions route.  
\- This is based off my game. So my professor is called Mars, and will be referred to as such later on.  
\- I did this for Me, but if you like it too please let me know!!
> 
> That's all! Please enjoy!

〚LONE MOON〛

**☾**

[15/3]

* * *

It was the professor’s birthday.

Like a piece of driftwood floating from the depths of a tumultuous sea, the thought drifted up though Dimitri’s consciousness, finally breaking the surface and snapping him out of his reverie.

He had once again been lost in thought. Though “thought” was perhaps too generous a term for the mess of his head. Painful memories, unfulfilled promises and half-formed apologies all tumbling over one another. Crashing like waves upon an unyielding cliff face.

How strange, then, that he would think of this now. He had long thought himself incapable of celebration, especially one as trivial as a birthday. And yet, the thought was sharp and clear on his mind.

It was evening. The last remnants of light, as well as the beginnings of the crickets’ nightly choir filtered in through the open doors of the cathedral. Spring had not yet set in, and the air still had a bite to it, the breeze carrying with it the scent of woodsmoke.

Dimitri stood, and felt his muscles ache and protest the movement. He must’ve been here some hours, then. The loss of time no longer came as a surprise to him. These days, the currents of time simply drifted past in a blur, memories bleeding into one another until he lost track of them all. He’d long resolved to let it carry him forward, one day and then the next. None of it mattered. Not really.

Except, of course, for that day. Looking back on it now felt like looking at the sun, too bright amongst the choking dark of the years leading up to it. Five whole years of solitude, ceaseless violence, and only the knowledge that he’d yet to fulfill his promise keeping him going. And then… _he_ was there, and the others followed, and everything was different again.

His professor. Stood tall, the morning light at his back casting a dim halo, looking just as he had all those years ago. Dimitri had thought him a hallucination at first, some ghastly vision come to torture him. Yet another loved one, lost. Then, his hand, dappled in scars, reaching out to him. The hand he’d seen wield his sword with deadly precision, cutting down one enemy after the next. The hand that had guided his students, with that bright look in his eye. Affection, perhaps?

When first they had met, Dimitri had wondered about the professor, whose face was always so impassive, his demeanour so blunt, if he was capable of such feelings. Of any feelings, really.

Later, he learned to see the subtleties of his actions. A face, once blank, now a small smile. Slightly raised eyebrows saying _you can do better_ when he botched a manoeuvre in practice. Now, he wished he’d never learned to read the professor. Wished he couldn’t see the worry in the set of his mouth, the weariness that seemed to weigh on him constantly.

Needless to say, the professor’s return had been… unexpected. Dimitri had long mourned his loss, tossed the grief to the funeral pyre that fuelled the ferocity of his fight. At first, he didn’t know how to reconcile this knowledge with himself. Didn’t know how to process such a thing, having learned by now that no good thing could ever last.

He couldn’t let himself celebrate, despite the joy, so painfully sweet, singing within him. Joy that made him yearn to reach, to touch, to know that he was real for certain. Before he, too, inevitably left. Again.

He knew better than that, now.

So he kept his distance. Kept his silence, ignoring the professor’s increasingly awkward attempts at conversation. Dimitri tried to keep the all-too-familiar rage in check, even as he felt it simmer.

As time went on, his patience wore thin. Gentle inquiries and harmless comments piled on, and he felt the resentment grow and eat and tear away at him. Now Dimitri met every harmless remark with a snap, each smile with a glower, until the professor stopped, until they all stopped, and just looked at him in a way he couldn’t bear. It all fanned at the flames, the anger inside burning hotter and brighter than ever.

Dimitri was wandering the grounds now, with the vague sense that he was looking for something building in the back of his mind. The cold had grown bitter now, and he shivered into his cloak. Despite this, he stayed outside, away from the warmth and lights of the monastery. Away from where he was likely to bump into soldiers or, Goddess forbid, his old classmates.

He’d grown used to hearing chatter stutter and stop, eyes avert. Faces twisting in, what? Fear? Revulsion? Pity? It barely registered anymore. Mere smudges at the edge of his vision.

As he walked, he let his hands skim overgrown grass by the paths leading to the courtyard, absentmindedly plucking at the wildflowers that grew.

Dimitri looked up, and stilled. Eye now fixed on a lone figure in the centre of the courtyard. There, sat at one of the tables was the professor. That placid, unblinking gaze already upon him.

He was sat alone, a teapot and empty cups set on the table before him. Had he been entertaining guests earlier? Probably the others, no doubt. Chatting, laughing, celebrating. All things Dimitri had forgotten how to do.

Dimitri’s expression shuttered. Even though he knew it was too late to hide whatever emotion his face had betrayed in those brief moments. Those bright eyes saw all. As Dimitri went to turn away, a glimmer of light caught his attention. The professor wasn’t in his armour today, dressed instead for warmth and comfort in a long overcoat and scarf. And there, pinned neatly to the front of his coat, a delicate blue and silver brooch glinted in the dying daylight.

The very one Dimitri had shyly gifted him 5 years ago on this day, received with a surprised smile and a nod. He remembered turning the small piece of metal over and over in his hands - a nervous habit - despite his fear that he’d break it before he could deliver it to the professor.

That Dimitri was gone, now. He’d been young, naive, full of a reckless and burning hope for the future. The only things that burned now were far less savoury emotions.

Dimitri’s eye met the professor’s once more. And perhaps it was the set of his mouth - a slight tightness around the corners of his lips, a tension in his shoulders, but Dimitri felt the professor was thinking along the same lines. He was… expectant, perhaps? Of more insults, no doubt. Though where anger would usually rise to meet these thoughts, Dimitri felt something in him falter.

“Happy birthday, professor.” It came out before he even knew what he was saying. _Stupid_. He’d even called him professor, like he was still the same rosy-cheeked student from all those years ago.

Surprise, then. Plain on the professor’s usually blank face, his mouth opening slightly. Then, quick as ever, his face settled, eyes suddenly gentle. Something in Dimitri’s chest ached to see those eyes, to be looked at in such a way. He didn’t deserve it, and he wrenched his head to the side.

“Thank you, Dimitri.” came the reply. His voice was kind.

Such warmth, despite all the things Dimitri had said to him. Insults, threats, and countless dismissals hurled at him. It was painful, almost. Like the kind of sharp ache that came from putting one’s chilled body in a too-hot bath.

A feeling that had started as a hairline fracture had cracked and deepened into what now felt like an uncrossable chasm. And yet…

The silence that followed then was too long, the air thick with a thousand things unsaid, a muffled sadness somewhere beneath it all. The professor had never been one to fill silences with chatter, and Dimitri felt his own thoughts scatter. Nothing coherent would come out of his mouth, were he to make the mistake of opening it.

All the while, the ache in his chest thrummed and twisted restlessly. As the quiet stretched on, they both seemed to be oddly… transfixed in the moment. No, trapped was a better word. As Dimitri felt he could no longer stand the feeling, at last, the professor spoke.

“Perhaps,” he hesitated, seeming to pick his words with care, “you could join me?” he nodded towards the table before him. “Although the tea is almost cold now, I’m afraid. And Annette saw to it that no cakes remained.” An afterthought, the ghost of a sheepish grin touching briefly upon his lips.

So they _had_ been celebrating. Stupidly, Dimitri felt left out, even as he was certain his presence would sour the mood considerably. He knew that if he’d been asked, he’d respond with, at best, a scathing rebuke.

And yet, the professor was asking now. At this, he almost lashed out. He couldn’t stand it, being treated so _normally_.

“I, ah…” as Dimitri opened his mouth to mutter some half-baked excuse, the professor spoke again.

“It’s alright. We don’t have to talk.” a true smile then, brief but all the same there, and _real._

The professor’s voice was quiet. Warm. It washed over Dimitri, a salve, soothing the worst of the agitation. Despite himself, despite the unbearable ache in his chest telling him he was unworthy of this kindness, Dimitri sat.

The smile he got then almost made him think it was worth it. Almost. 

**☾**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
[[Twitter](https://twitter.com/bees4teens)]


	2. forget-me-not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has a bad day, that gets kind of okay, then gets very, very bad. Sylvain doesn't exactly help in this regard. But he does try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, me again! This chapter's a lot longer than the last one. I'm? not sure about the pacing of this one, but as I said I'm still pretty new at this. _Probably_ gonna move things a bit faster from here on out. Have some Plot happening.  
Anyways, feedback is appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!

[16/3]

* * *

It was morning. Sleep had not come easily, and Dimitri had only managed to catch snatches of it between waking, dazed, in a cold sweat. This tended to be the case even on the best of days, without the rain relentlessly pounding on his window, wind howling an ominous chorus.

In the end, that’s what had put an end to his and the professor’s little get-together, if he could even call it that. The weather. Not an argument, or Dimitri storming off, but the darkening of the sky as the sun set and the clouds closed in. Wrapping the sky in a blanket of grey, as rain began to fall in a light shower that promised to only get heavier.

**☾**

The professor stayed true to his promise, and neither spoke the whole time. What started as a heavy, oppressive silence settled into slight unease and, if Dimitri squinted, a vague sense of companionship. It made him realise he never spent extended periods of time with people outside of battle. Realised it wasn’t… entirely unpleasant.

It was then that the professor had touched him, hand on Dimitri’s arm. Which had been resting on the table, hand curled into a loose fist. Fingers twitching occasionally when his thoughts got too loud, but somehow, having the professor there seemed to muffle them somewhat. Kept the worst of it at bay. Having been lost in absentmindedly watching birds flit about the sky, Dimitri hadn’t spotted the movement. He jolted at the touch, arm jerking away. Knew there was a wild look in his eye the professor undoubtedly caught.

“Sorry.” the professor said softly, looking like he meant it. He glanced at the clouds, looming darkly over the gazebo, then back at him, eyes unreadable as ever. “Come, I think it’s best we call it a night. You’ll catch cold out here.”

The quiet concern in his voice, combined with the static still lingering where the professor had touched him… it hampered his ability to compose his expression into its usual mask. This kind of friendly intimacy, it wasn’t new, but after so long it felt alien. Wrong, now that he was no longer a bright-eyed child but a man with blood on his hands.

Seeming to sense his unease, the professor cocked his head slightly, “Really, you’ll be of no use on the battlefield if you’re wiping your nose between each swing of the blade.”

A joke. This too, wasn’t completely unfamiliar. Just like everything about him, it was a quiet thing. Occasional enough to confuse those who didn’t know him, and to produce bubbles of startled laughter in those who did. Said in that humourless tone, with only a slight lift of his brows to indicate otherwise.

He knew he’d said it for his sake, to put him at ease. In spite of himself, Dimitri could feel his shoulders loosen a little. Felt the tension coiled tightly within him begin to unwind. Despite his lack of aptitude with words, the professor still had a charm about him. He had an air that just seemed to pull people in.

Once, Dimitri had heard Flayn call him ‘mysterious like the sea’, to which he had no response other than to try to stifle his laughter. Now, though, he frowned at the memory. Wished the past would stay put, and not constantly dog him in the present.

And so, they stood, and walked in the relative quiet. The sky now looking rather menacing indeed, distant clouds making the occasional rumble. A warning that the steady pitter-patter of rain was only the beginning. Dimitri buried his hands deep into his pockets, rain beginning to seep into his clothes. He wasn’t unused to the cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

The weather seemed to have scared off the usual night-time stragglers, as they encountered no one else as they walked. Dimitri didn't even try to hide his relief at this, and let himself relax a little.

As they approached the professor’s room, Dimitri slowed, expecting him to go in, and yet professor’s pace didn’t slow. The professor looked back, saw his hesitation.

“Are you not going back to your quarters?” he asked.

“Yes.” Then, as no immediate reply came, Dimitri raised his eyebrows in question.

“I’m walking you back.” At that, indignation flared in Dimitri. Now they both stood still, no longer walking.

“You’ll find I’m perfectly capable of-“ Dimitri growled, eye flashing.

“You misunderstand me,” the professor shook his head, strands of rain-soaked hair sticking to his face. “I know you like to push yourself. I’ve seen you train late into the night. You were going to go to the training grounds after this, right? But I meant it. You really will be useless if you get sick. We need you well and whole. So, I’m walking you back.”

To this, Dimitri had no reply. He’d long known those bright eyes saw much more than they let on, but to be called out so thoroughly was… unnerving. Those words, how easily he’d seen through him left him feeling unmoored. He remembered lectures from years ago, but this was something entirely different. It had extinguished his building rage, leaving only a cold hollow in its place.

He realised there was much he didn’t know about the professor, things he knew or saw but chose to hide. And yet, to hear him say so much at once was rare, and some part of him hated to admit he really did like that voice. Even if now it was stern, his gaze reproachful.

Time stretched on, the drizzling rain filling the silence. Dimitri stood, unmoving. The professor's expression softened slightly.

“Just… humour me.”

Unsure how to respond, and trying to suppress a shiver of cold as the rain pressed further into the layers of his clothes, Dimitri simply made a disgruntled noise and began walking again.

Finally out of the rain, their steps echoed within the now-empty monastery. Now inside, it was quiet again.

“I’ll be away for the next week or so. A brief scouting mission of sorts. After that, we can set out.” the professor said, filling the silence. Not unusual for another, perhaps, but for the professor this was outright chatty.

Dimitri scoffed, “Aren’t you much too important for that sort of thing?” He’d intended to remain silent, but the jab was out before he could stop himself.

“We’ve had some worrying reports from a nearby town. Bandits, I think. Still, they want an experienced fighter on hand just in case.” he shrugged, although something about the way he said this made Dimitri think he agreed.

A pause, then, and Dimitri realised the professor seemed to be mulling something over, eyebrows furrowed. His voice was quieter now, “I’ll admit part of the reason is I don’t want to risk the others getting hurt.”

“You’re too soft." Dimitri snapped. "You may be physically strong, but that kind of thinking is going to get you killed.” His voice was hard, now. Cold.

The professor didn’t reply, and the rest of the walk was spent in silence. Though the way he glanced over at him made Dimitri think he’d somehow expected words to that effect. If Dimitri didn't know any better, he'd say the professor looked exasperated.

Just as they reached his door and Dimitri grasped the handle, the professor spoke up yet again. _By the Goddess,_ he certainly was talkative today. Dimitri gritted his teeth, wanting to be done with this. Craved the solitude that was just a step away.

“One last thing,” he said, something like hesitation in his voice. Dimitri couldn’t help but look up at this. He couldn’t remember the last time the professor had expressed anything close to doubt. He was always so sure of himself. “I know the others still call me professor, but… you can call me Mars, if you wish. You are no longer a student, after all. I'd like you to think of me as a peer-”

Dimitri didn't let him finish, and took the step. Finally putting the door between himself and the professor with a solid click of the latch. He'd barely been able to stop himself from slamming the damned door.

The tension he’d been trying to withstand now buzzed through his body, made its way through him, down his arms all the way to his fingertips until his hands shook from it. He clasped them together tightly to stop it.

_Call you by your name?_ And then what? As if that was going to make them closer. Make Dimitri any less unwilling to talk to him. Just because he’d caved to the professor’s request to sit together, humoured his small talk, it did not mean they were friends all of a sudden. Far from it.

Despite the seething thoughts, a small voice he hated, wished would give up already, told him his intentions were good. Was being practical, even. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding in a huff.

The professor may have nobly rescued him from the clutches of the common cold, but his needless concern did little else. And more often than not, its presence stoked the flames of his anger. He was fine on his own.

He was _fine_.

**☾**

He certainly didn’t get what anyone could call a good night’s sleep. After waking up for the third time that night, heart racing and bits of nightmares still clinging to him, flashes of violence and horror, he’d had enough.

He sat up, throwing the sweat-soaked covers off. He could feel a headache starting to form in his head, buzzing tendrils creeping at his temples.

He’d had days like this before, where he teetered precariously on a knife’s edge. He mustn’t fall, he knew that much. He’d have to be careful today.

He started to pace, and the tension abated somewhat. He was afraid of what he’d do if he saw anyone, were he to leave his room right now.

This was interrupted mid-step by a tired-looking Sylvain knocking on his door, hair mussed and shadows under his eyes, politely requesting that he try to keep his pacing to daytime hours. ‘Y’know, when I’m not trying to sleep’. Dimitri simply responded by glowering, and was met with a sigh and a mumbled ‘guess I’ll leave you to it’.

Still, he stopped. Wandered over to his desk where he opened the window and sat. Settled for bouncing his leg restlessly and watching the sky slowly change hue, as the birds woke and heralded the new day with a dawn chorus.

The was sight too serene in contrast to the throbbing pain in his head, the ache of his muscles. The kind that came from pushing himself too hard, too often when sparring, with not enough sleep to make up for it.

He didn’t feel much like going out today. But Gilbert or Rodrigue would come looking for him sooner or later, and would drag him along to a war meeting, or to discuss strategy for this month's task. If not that, then some small emergency which needed his attention, no doubt. Never a moment’s rest.

Despite their deference to him, the respect ingrained in them, he certainly didn’t feel like future king material. Didn’t feel any different from the common bandit that killed to further his own selfish purposes.

Once, he had been called a natural leader. Praised for his compassion on the battlefield. He felt his mouth twist in an approximation of a grim, humourless smile. Thought of the countless lives and limbs he'd torn and slashed asunder in fervent pursuit of his goal. It could be nothing further from the truth.

As the sky grew light, he decided there was no point staying in his room any longer. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep, certainly. He decided to get out for a walk to try to clear his mind. Being cooped up in here was doing him no favours.

He got dressed quickly, piling as many layers as he could. His coat was still wet from the night previous. He felt ice shoot through him as he thought of the uglier parts of their brief conversation. It then thawed at the memory of the professor's touch, his small smiles, despite their brevity.

As he pushed his chair back and descended the stairs to the hall, he knew that trying to quieten the incessant chaos of his mind was something of an exercise in futility. Still, he had to get out.

The bells rang. With each toll, another needling pain in his head. Six o’clock. No point going to train now, with the state he was in, he wasn’t certain if he’d be able to hold a spear steady. Though he’d certainly fought through worse pain.

At this time there’d likely be a steady stream of soldiers coming into the training grounds. He knew the intensity with which he usually practiced scared most. Made them uncomfortable. Usually he could ignore the looks he got while training easily enough. But today he felt volatile, exhaustion and pain having worn at him until he could no longer keep the worst of himself in check.

Violent impulses he was usually able to ignore rose through his mind, like flames licking at his consciousness. If he were to act on them, and someone got hurt, it would only pile onto his problems. Part of him asked himself why he even cared. One more body on the pile. What did it matter?

And yet... another part wanted to hold onto whatever scraps of humanity he had left. Even if it, too, saw it was ultimately futile.

He needed some quiet, he realised. So he headed outside of the monastery walls, to the forest wrapped around the back. The last of last night’s storm had dissipated, leaving behind a light drizzle.

As he entered the forest proper, he felt himself relax a little as he revelled in his solitude. True solitude. The greys and browns of the monastery turning to the green and brown of nature.

The pounding in Dimitri's head receded into something more tolerable. No distant chatter of soldiers or the beating of a wyvern’s wings as another patrol passed overhead.

If he was unlucky, he’d at best spot Petra or Felix hunting. Though they were skilled enough hunters to conceal their presence, and would likely hear him from a mile off. He wasn’t exactly making an effort to muffle his footsteps, dried pines and twigs crunching underfoot. Not that he could if he tried. He could be dexterous while fighting, but when it came to stealth, the more he tried to conceal his presence the more noise he seemed to make.

As he walked, the drizzle settled into a thin mist that wrapped around tree trunks, wove through their roots and condensed into a dew that clung to the ends of leaves. Here and there, crumbling watchtowers and rubble dotted the landscape. These had been in poor shape even during his days at the academy, but now the whole area bore the signs of battle.

They made him think of himself, strangely. He was not all that different. Outside of the obvious changes to his external appearance, the war had scarred him in more than one sense. His very being felt worn, wounds cutting deeper than flesh, gouging parts of his soul out.

He didn’t know how long he walked, as the tolling of the monastery bells had long since faded into the distance. Replaced with the calls of various birds and the occasional scurry of some small animal in the brush. The breeze came and went like the tide of an ocean, less sharp than yesterday.

As time went on, his thoughts settled into a muted buzz. Still unpleasant but… tolerable. This wasn't uncommon on days like this, where exhaustion carved his concentration out of himself, replaced with a warm nothingness.

It was then that he spotted it, pulling him out of his thoughts. Between a break in the trees, a clearing. It wasn't unusual, really, but the grass seemed more vibrant, somehow. Water collecting in dewdrops along the stems, so the whole area seemed to sparkle as the breeze winded its way through it. Delicate flowers soaked in the sun, which was now peeking from behind the clouds. Casting long, thin rays of light downwards.

Dimitri wanted to scoff at his own sentimentality, yet he couldn’t help but gaze with some wonder.

Without thinking, he found himself picking a few of the flowers as he wandered in. He couldn’t help himself. It was a habit he’d picked up as a child and to this day couldn’t seem to shake.

Dimitri found his thoughts drifting to the professor as he did so. Thought of the times he had gifted flowers to the others. Giving some violets he’d found to Ashe after hearing him mention offhandedly they were his favourites. Pressing some freshly picked lilies into Mercedes’ palm as she smiled warmly in greeting. It made a strange kind of sense, that the professor, who wore his strength about him quietly, undeniable in the way he held himself, would present his affection in this manner too. Quietly. Casually, almost.

_Perhaps he’d like some flowers of his own?_

Dimitri blinked down at the flowers, small and pale blue. The thought surprised him. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of it like a dog shaking off the rain. Lack of sleep was clearly getting to him. _A gift._ It was sentimental, and frivolous, and...

And yet, as Dimitri turned to make his way back to the monastery, he found himself pocketing the small blooms. Even as he told himself not to entertain such notions, he found the same thoughts playing on his mind. Like weeds sprouting in cracks in cobblestone, they kept popping up.

He wondered what his favourite flowers were... had any of the others gifted him any? Did he like them? It had been his birthday just yesterday after all.

It was in small moments like these, when he felt less like a crumbling ruin, but something almost resembling wholeness. Felt like... himself again. Even if he knew it was impossible. He _was_ himself.

_The old Dimitri is dead._

**☾**

Back within the monastery walls, the day was in full swing. The sun filtered weakly through a thin canopy of clouds, soldiers and merchants roaming the grounds in varying degrees of business. After a few hours in the forest, Dimitri knew he'd have to return to the real world eventually. Now back, he walked slowly, putting off whatever needed to be done today.

He’d been meaning to find Gilbert or Rodrigue and ask them for updates while pretending he didn’t feel like the inside of his head was being compressed into a single point. Well, more realistically, he would meander aimlessly until _they_ found _him._

The sense of almost-peace from the forest was gone now, and he was being dragged against his will into the present, alertness making its scratchy return.

Blinking, he found himself stood at the top of the stairs by the first-floor dormitories. The sun was high in the sky now, wispy clouds passing overhead. The entrance to the professor’s room was just visible at the end of the rows of doors.

Unthinking, he fished in his pocket and took the flowers out, looking at them as if they offered any answers. A few of the stems had bent and snapped, some of the petals having fallen away. He watched, blankly, as they drifted on the breeze.

Then the anger caught up to him, and Dimitri felt it mingle with the shame that blazed through him. The fog in his mind had fully cleared now. Some gift this was. He _knew_ he was useless with delicate things. Had known it for so long, and yet they still drew him. And now he had Fódlan’s sorriest looking bouquet gripped in his fist to show for it.

“Well greetings, your highness!” Dimitri’s head snapped up. He hissed. He'd moved too fast, and now his head thudded with renewed pain. It was Sylvain, making his way towards him with an arm raised in greeting, a jaunty spring in his stride.

Before he could turn away, he was upon him, now eyeing the flowers he grasped curiously. His eyebrows crept up, a knowing smile on his face. Dimitri felt dread settle to the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone.

“Forget-me-nots, huh? Good choice, ladies _love_ hand-picked flowers. Roses or carnations you can buy at any old stall, but going out and getting them yourself? Shows you’re willing to go the extra mile.” He stretched, linking his arms behind his head.

“What do you want, Sylvain?” Dimitri snapped.

“Hey, woah, no need for that! Nothing, I was just on my way to train and saw you. Thought you’d maybe want to chat.” at Dimitri's responding scowl, his grin turned sheepish. “I, uh, guess I was wrong.”

Dimitri didn’t reply. Instead trying to level him with a look, but finding that his concentration was splintering under the buzzing static of pain in his head. The relative peace of the forest had been a temporary refuge, and this morning's headache was flaring back to life in response to the noise of the monastery.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Every word out of Sylvain’s mouth was another stick, poking the wasp’s nest in his head.

“You, uh, doing alright? Manage to get any sleep last night?” Sylvain dropped his arms from his head, resting a hand on his hip.

The smile from before now replaced with a look of concern so genuine Dimitri had to look away. He forgot that Sylvain was rather perceptive, even if most of the time he didn't show it.

He continued, as if Dimitri's silence had spoken for him. “Yeah, me neither. Not that it was your fault! What with all your, uh, pacing.” he added quickly. “The rain kept me up, mostly.”

Dimitri sighed. Maybe if he just humoured him, he’d go away sooner. And… he hated to admit it, but that expression was disarming. Usually looks like that just made him angry. Perhaps because he’d known Sylvain so long, it was different. Knew it was real, and not laced with pity or revulsion.

“…Me too.” The anger he’d felt before fizzled and died, leaving only scratchy exhaustion behind. Knew Sylvain could hear it in his voice.

As he met his eyes, he recognised the look on Sylvain's face as a mirror of his own. Drained, weary. In that brief moment they’d both let their masks fall. And Dimitri felt something he thought no longer possible. A connection.

Then, he remembered himself. He mastered his expression, and he tucked the flowers back into his pocket. Trying to be gentler this time, even if he knew the effort was somewhat in vain.

“Really though, sure you don’t want any love advice? I _am_ an expert, after all.” The familiar smile was back, but more subdued this time. His query genuine, despite the teasing tone. “And if you get in any trouble, you can come to me and I’ll help you out. Just like – ah, well. You know.” Sylvain scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Dimitri felt himself flush a little at the memory. He _did_ know, unfortunately.

He was referring to five years prior. When Dimitri, determined to prove to Sylvain he was able to loosen up and date, had stupidly asked out the first girl who spoke to him. He didn’t even know her name, but the words were out of his mouth before he knew it.

He’d completely forgotten about that, just as he'd slowly been forgetting all of his memories of the academy. Until now.

Dimitri's expression darkened.

“Sorry, stupid to bring it up. You can blame that one on me.” Sylvain seemed genuinely apologetic; his own cheeks tinged red as he laughed awkwardly.

“Yes. Well.” Dimitri clipped back. He looked down at his hands, at the gold specks of pollen on palms. Sighed, and looked back up, “I don’t need your advice, Sylvain. And this isn’t – They’re not-“

“Relax, I get it. I’m just teasing.” he grinned, seeming to be at ease again. “But, y’know. I’m here if they are. Really, you can tell me _all_ about the lucky girl. I can keep a secret.” he added, winking.

At this, Dimitri made a noise of disgust and turned to leave.

"Dimitri."

The sound of his name sent a jolt through him, and before he could stop himself, he turned. When was the last time Sylvain had called him by his name? Had sounded serious? As their eyes met, Sylvain's face was sombre yet again

"I mean it. The flowers, they're nice. It's good to see..." his brows knitted together, and he seemed to think the better of whatever he'd been about to say. A rueful sort of smile played on his face, "Ah, never mind. I'll see you later, yeah?" Sylvain clapped him on the shoulder and headed off, humming under his breath.

Goddess, he really knew how to push it. From their brief interactions, Dimitri saw that he'd matured somewhat over the years. And yet, he hadn’t changed a bit. Still his same insufferable self. Going _on_ about the most ridiculous things. Offering him love advice. Love advice! As if Dimitri was capable of such a thing anymore.

Frankly, Dimitri couldn’t see following Sylvain’s advice ending in anything other than disaster. He knew any ‘love advice’ he might have to offer would likely end with the father of every daughter in the area wanting his head on a plate.

He hated to admit it, but that conversation had thrown him off balance. Like a strong current disturbing the seabed, it brought old memories back to the surface. This was... dangerous. Dimitri knew what dwelling on them might do to him.

In spite of, or perhaps because of Sylvain’s words, he found himself stood in front of the door to the professor’s room. The unfinished, _it's nice to see_ still playing on his mind.

He took a moment to do a brief sweep of his surroundings, expression dark, ensuring anyone else who thought he ‘might want a chat’ would think better of it. This wasn't difficult to do, considering he was always on the cusp of a bad mood.

No one seemed to pay him any attention. Word had likely spread that drawing it was a bad idea. Good.

Inside, dust motes swirled in the air. The door creaked as it shut behind him. There was a faint sweet smell in the air that felt familiar, somehow. The desk was completely covered in papers, the brown of the wood barely visible beneath the tidal wave of documents. Various maps, notes and letters, all stacked in haphazard piles.

It was an odd comfort, to see that the professor could be so messy. Somehow, he’d expected everything neat to the point of the room looking uninhabited. But it very much bore the signs of life.

More than that, it was like he’d left a small part of himself here. Dimitri realised now; he’d never seen the inside of the professor’s room. Had only caught glimpses of it years ago as he bid him goodnight after the odd late night training session.

He felt, then, like an intruder. Not because the professor didn’t let others into his room. Far from it, he’d often invite others over. Dimitri remembered seeing students come knocking when they had worries on more than one occasion. He could see a few stools and soft cushions pushed against one wall as evidence of his hospitality.

No, he knew the feeling came from seeing a part of the professor’s life like this. It felt too personal, almost. He was meant to be distancing himself, not –

He shook his head to clear it. If the professor did not want him in there, he should have locked his door. He was here now. He may as well leave the damned flowers and be done with it. At the same time he reprimanded himself for doing it at all. _Sentimental fool._

Despite the mess on the desk the room was... nice. Various flowers in a multitude of vases dotted the room, added little points of colour. Each vase was filled with various herbs and flowers. Inspecting some of the closer ones, he noticed notes attached to some of them. Handwritten _happy birthday_s.

He had not been wrong then, that the others had had the same thoughts. Of course they had. He felt relief, then. Tried to ignore the odd undercurrent of disappointment.

It didn't make sense. Why would he be disappointed? Or was it something else?

He took the flowers out once more, and tucked them alongside another bouquet. A sorry gift indeed. He let out a single, dark laugh. Heard the despondency in his own voice. Ultimately, this is what he should have expected. Any attempts at closeness, kindness - some sort of human connection - it was all in vain. And it always would be.

_Just give up._

At last, the dam that had been holding back the tide of misery broke, and he felt desperation take hold of him. His thoughts tumbled over one another in an interminable storm. He couldn’t even do this one small thing right. Why had he even entertained such a stupid idea in the first place? They were not friends.

The pain in his head harmonised agonisingly with the agitation building within him.

He was out of the door and marching towards the training grounds before it was able to truly take hold, and he ended up in a tight ball on the floor. Or even worse, if he started smashing the professor’s possessions.

No, he needed to channel this into something productive. No matter if the whole damn army was there, he was sure they’d clear out soon enough once they saw how misery gripped him.

So much for that. That’s what he got for not keeping his distance, for letting his old feelings get the better of him. He kept telling himself. Over and over. He had but one purpose now. Anything else was unimportant, and should be cast away.

Again, like a mantra, he promised himself for the millionth time he’d stop letting his emotions rule him like this, that he'd push everyone away entirely. Cast aside anyone who got in his way.

He felt loneliness claw at his guts at these thoughts, and a small part of him was satisfied with this. Knew it was what he deserved. Still, even now he missed them, those small kindnesses.

How the professor... _Mars_, how he had reached out to him. Looked at him in a way like he was still human.

If only he could see him now.

**☾**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [update 16/02/20]  
Okay so I've edited this chapter a _lot_ and at this point? I think I just have to accept that it's just Not That Good. Next one will be better! Probably.
> 
> [update 16/03/20]  
Shout out to me for managing to overlook a disgusting number of typos >:'(


	3. bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are different, again.  
**[TW for graphic depictions of violence.** Wouldn’t exactly call it canon-typical, as the combat ingame is pretty tame, and this... Isn't.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Sorry this chapter took so long to post :') I've been working fulltime and working on various other projects. Anyways! Here's a <strike>quick</strike> update on some stuff (feel free to skip):
> 
> \- I’ve gone back and chopped up the previous chapters a little. Nothing major, I’ve just tried to break up the paragraphs for easier reading and changed a few lines to try and make the work flow better. I probably should’ve done that before posting but! I’m learning!  
\- I finished the Blue Lions route! And I added the canon adherent tag before finishing it but after doing the final chapter I think I’m ah, gonna be changing things up a little towards the end. Honestly. That final cutscene? Absolute disaster. So yeah, it’s canon adherent... _for now._  
\- This is the first chapter that isn’t beta read, because I don’t have any friends who have played the game and I feel bad making my friends read through 5k words of a fic where they have no idea who anyone is or what's happening :') That being said, I do rigorously reread and rewrite my chapters to ensure I’m completely happy before posting. Which is part of the reason I’ve taken my sweet time with uploading this chapter.  
\- Anyhow this chapter was a toughie to write!! Hopefully once I finish outlining the story properly, my uploads should be fairly regular. (I’m hoping once every 2-4 weeks.)
> 
> Okay, that’s it! Love you, bye!

[22/3]

* * *

As preparations for the assault on the great bridge of Myrddin ramped up, Dimitri was swept up in the tide of it all. The monastery now had a palpable air of anticipation, a constant commotion about the place as the day of departure drew closer.

In the midst of it all, Dimitri found himself busy. Much too busy to anxiously watch for the professor’s return. To think about how, any day now, he’d look up and see him there, only to be given a reproachful look, a stern shake of the head. Tell him he was a lost cause, actually, that any and all attempts at something resembling friendship would promptly cease. Perhaps even an insult or two thrown in. He’d earned that, hadn’t he?

Or, perhaps he’d not return at all.

He didn’t know why the prospect gnawed at him so. This would be a good thing. Because he didn’t care for the professor, or the friendship that he offered. He didn’t need it.

No, Dimitri was _ much _too busy to think about any of that.

As the days wore on, he had less and less free time inbetween training, war meetings and various other preparations. Though Dimitri’s contributions outside of hitting a training dummy tended to be limited to angry outbursts or sullen silences. 

What little free time he did have was now spent almost exclusively outside of the monastery walls. Away from the commotion of the castle. The forest, the town outskirts - wherever there were no prying eyes to put him on edge.

In those quiet moments alone he could feel the flames of obsession once again licking at him, filling the murky void between battles. 

The great bridge of Myrddin. More a fortress than a mere bridge, it was just one more thing standing between Dimitri and the empire capital. Between _ her _.

Once again in the forest, sat on a felled tree with his eyes shut, Dimitri accepted the selfish core of his pursuit. Revenge is what he’d called it, but it was becoming harder and harder to tell if he even cared for the wishes of the dead any more than he wanted to stop hearing them. To be free of their dying moments, shards of dying memories needling at him like tiny pinpricks on each guilty breath.

He just had to kill her. One life in exchange for their deaths. It was only fair, wasn’t it?

He once might’ve even called it just.

He stood, and stretched, ignoring the twinges of his overworked body. He would not deign to call it such now.

**☾**

[25/3]

It was overcast, the bite of winter still lingering upon the breeze.

The army would soon be departing from the monastery and begin its march for the bridge. The air was heavy today. Cold and wet, but without rain. It stuck in Dimitri’s throat.

He couldn’t help but feel some sense of directionless despair, even as he was quick to push it away. There was a similar tone of defeat in snippets of conversations overheard. Dimitri tried not to think about it too much.

Dimitri could still faintly smell pine and damp earth, even now back within the monastery walls. Walking along one of the more isolated paths, lined with trees and rubble not yet cleared away. He felt the prickle of eyes on him, and glanced up.

The professor’s eyes seemed to glow in the early morning mist. They were utterly blank, as he made his way down the path toward Dimitri.

Despite himself, Dimitri felt relief wash over him. Some coil of tension deep within unwound; a small weight he’d been unaware he’d been carrying, lifted. He felt lighter, if only for a moment.

_ How pathetic. _

Dimitri was quick to settle his expression into its customary scowl as they got closer. The professor stopped, now just a few paces away. And so Dimitri stopped too. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, much less move. The professor’s gaze had him pinned, so he simply waited to see what he had to say.

“Good morning,” the professor tried.

Dimitri nodded stiffly and made to continue walking.

“Ah - a moment, if you will?” 

Dimitri grudgingly obliged, and stood once more, now closer. He stopped himself from tapping his foot impatiently, or stepping back. _ Just stand still. _

The professor looked worn, with mud and dried blood caked in the hinges of his armour. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly soft, like he hadn’t mean to speak aloud. “You look so cornered, you know. Even though we’re out in the open like this.” he gestured vaguely around, and Dimitri could do nothing but blink for a few seconds. “I wish I knew what to say to help.”

He looked like he wanted to reach out. His arms came up, but as he caught the look in Dimitri’s eye he simply crossed his arms.

“You’re being ridiculous, I don’t need help.” Dimitri growled, anger quick on the heels of surprise. 

He mirrored the professor. Arms crossed, jaw set. A beat, and then:

“What do you want.” 

“Ah. I apologise.” the professor said, an odd look in his eye. “I returned from my mission and came to find you. Gilbert told me you like to wander around. Though he said it like he was worried you might run off on a solo mission to the capital.” All of this had his usual deadpan delivery, but his eyes held some emotion Dimitri couldn’t place. “And I came to report. Of course.” He was still wearing the brooch. Had he always worn it? Dimitri couldn’t remember.

“Report, then.” he snapped. 

“Shall we discuss this someplace with chairs? Over tea, perhaps?” the professor’s lips moved on a ghost of a smile. Had Dimitri not known any better, he would have said that the man was in a good mood. Then, the professor’s eyes alit, and that strange light within them danced. “Ah! But before I forget. I must thank you.”

“For what.”

“The flowers. You left them as a birthday gift, yes? Though I… do have some tips. Regarding that.”

“You do.” Dimitri said blankly, trying to ignore the strange tightness in his chest at those words. He grit his teeth, the beginnings of a headache taking root at the base of his skull.

“Yes. Upon my return I’m sorry to report the flowers were a tad… crunchy. Perhaps placing the stems in reach of water would have been beneficial. I am told plants need water. To survive.” 

It finally clicked then. Amusement. That’s what he saw in the professor’s eyes. He could see now how the corners of his lips curled upwards slightly.

“Ah.” Dimitri’s voice wasn’t quite as hard as he wished it to be. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Call it a lapse in judgement.”

He could feel the rogue petals and bits of pollen stuck to the insides of his pockets damn him. He didn’t know why he collected them. He didn’t know what to do with them either. He now had a collection of dried bits of flowers gathered in an empty bottle on his desk. And now the professor had one too, stuffed unceremoniously alongside an unmangled bouquet. _ How embarrassing. _

Dimitri almost laughed, though he felt no humour.

The professor was quiet, simply studying him.

Perhaps it was some lingering remnants of sentimental relief from earlier, but Dimitri let his gaze thaw a little. He blew out a breath.

“How do you know they’re from me?” he couldn’t quite work the stiffness out of his voice. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking; he’d not left a note, and this kind of behaviour wasn’t exactly… typical. He’d surprised himself, even.

“I’ve never seen flowers in such sorry condition outside of a battlefield.” the professor said, and his lips snagged on a grin, quick and crooked, “I’ve seen you break weapons while training, Dimitri. Those poor flowers never stood a chance.”

He was… mocking him? Teasing. Tension coiled up Dimitri’s spine, and the familiarity made his skin crawl. Whatever vague ease he felt earlier curled up and died, replaced with something cold and cloying.

“That, and Sylvain is… something of a blabbermouth in these matters. He told me not to tell you this. Said you would ‘hunt him for sport’.” the professor raised his eyebrows, as if to question the accuracy of the statement.

“Well, it’s not exactly like I spoke to him of my own accord.” Dimitri admitted. Hunt him for sport, indeed.

The professor’s smile was genuine, then, eyes bright. It was warm, in the same way a fireball hurtling towards you in battle is warm. Something in Dimitri snapped, and he remembered how he’d told himself _ no more of this. _

The feeling was like ice slowly crystallising in his veins. The fact that it was his own foolish sentimentality that had got him here dug at him like some cruel joke.

At long last, familiar anger had gripped him, rose like walls of flame to protect him from the ice, that odd vulnerability he felt when he saw that smile. The hands rested on his arms clenched into fists.

“Like I said,” Dimitri spat through gritted teeth, “it - this was a lapse in judgement.”

“I apologise.” the professor’s face was neutral again, like the outburst didn’t phase him. Or maybe it did, and this was how he showed it. “I shouldn’t have joked. I really am thankful.” He took a step forward. His eyes were kind. “Thank you, Dimitri. You’ve… not changed. Not really.”

With each sentence Dimitri felt more frayed. Like a spool slowly being unravelled under that gaze. He hated to think that the professor could see what lay at his core, some scarred and rotten thing.

If those words were meant to be some kind of balm, they only served to fuel the fire.

“I don’t much care for your… remarks, professor.” he stepped closer, voice hard. “Do not forget, I will cut you down should you become a hindrance to me.”

Before the professor could respond, he turned and left. Resisted the urge to turn back around, to feel those eyes damn him.

**☾**

[26/3]

The next day the army set out for the great bridge of Myrddin. Camping and marching and checking supplies and talking strategy. All the while, an undercurrent of unease had Dimitri on edge.

As intent as he was to ignore the others, morale was low. Now leading troops on what they thought was a doomed plight. He was unable to ignore the looks he got, the discontented mutterings.

Even Felix had spoken his mind on the matter.

It was nighttime, and Felix looked uncomfortable, stood there on the other side of the campfire. They’d set up camp on the outskirts of a town for the night, and up until now Dimitri had simply been lost in thought, watching the dying embers glow. 

Tired as he would, it would still be some time before an uneasy sleep found him.

His head whipped up at the sound of Felix clearing his throat. Disdain was plain on his face. Why was he here? Surely something dire had brought him into viewing distance of Dimitri.

“What is it? Has something happened?” he snapped, something like worry lacing his voice.

“No.” Felix scowled, and looked away, as if Dimitri’s innocuous response annoyed him.

“What, then.” Dimitri said, when Felix didn’t elaborate, “Don’t tell me you just came here to run your mouth.”

An odd satisfaction warred with some odd hollowness in his chest at the responding flush of anger on Felix’s face.

“Coming from a boar that spouts mindlessly about killing anyone who stands in its way.” Felix snarled.

Dimitri’s lips curled, forming something of a grim smile. When the professor spoke uncomfortable truths about Dimitri it was a jarring thing. Left him frayed at the edges. With Felix it was just, well, Felix.

Felix took a breath, and scowled down at the embers between them, “I don’t have time for this.” he shook his head, “But I’m the only other person stupid enough to still be awake and humour the professor as he -” he waved a hand vaguely, then looked sharply back to Dimitri.

The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, his eyebrows knitted in frustration. The set of his mouth made it seem like he was frustrated with himself.

Dimitri realised, then, with a strange pang, that Felix looked as exhausted as he felt. Like tiredness had worn at him, leaving him more loose-lipped than usual.

“He wanted to talk to you. Soft-hearted fool that he is, and tell you to get some rest.” Felix scoffed. Though his lips quirked up, in something like fondness.

“Then why are you here?” Dimitri’s voice had thawed, warmed by the cracks he saw in Felix’s usual facade. He cocked his head, “Surely you’re not going to tuck me in and sing me a lullaby?”

The look he got from Felix then was strange. He almost looked… pained. Though Dimitri had no idea what he’d said to earn such a reaction. Then, just as quickly, the mask was back up.

“The professor’s too soft on you. His coddling isn’t doing anyone good. If we keep running this path, it’s only a matter of time before the ground beneath us collapses.” a ghost of that strange expression from before flitted across his face, “You know, boar, for someone so intent on seeing your goal to completion, you’re going about it in the most self-destructive way possible. You’re both fools.”

“So you did come here to run your mouth after all.” Dimitri said dryly.

“_Ugh!_” Felix growled, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I knew trying to talk any sense into you was pointless. I’m done here.”

And so he was. He left, and Dimitri watched as he stepped out of the flickering glow of the fire, and disappeared into the dark.

Insult-ridden lectures aside, it was odd he’d come to find him of his own free will. Dimitri thought back to the number of conversations that weren’t about battle of late. The professor, Sylvain, and now Felix. 

This was… new.

**☾**

[30/3]

The day of the battle dawned cold and damp. The sun, hidden behind a blanket of clouds, offered little in the way of warmth.

Dimitri found himself drifting. Running on autopilot, muscle memory. And then he was standing on the edge of the bridge, army amassed behind him. He watched as Felix leaned over to mutter something to the professor, eyes flitting to Dimitri as he spoke. Dimitri tightened his grip on his lance.

He knew he should be tethered to the moment. Viscerally aware. But he remained firmly outside of himself, even as he began to move. He was simply muscles and sinew bunching, stretching over bone to move forward, into the battle ahead.

Dimitri took a breath.

There was fighting, and noise. A flurry of colour and movement and _death_, the screams of the living and dying, and Dimitri found himself drowning in the violence of it all.

His nostrils flared on the first metallic traces of blood, which would be overwhelming before long, mingling with the acrid scent of sweat and singed flesh as mages cast forth flames and thunder in dizzying flashes of light.

Dimitri’s lance made a wide arc, veins thrumming as his crest flared to life. A clang of metal lost in the deafening battle around them - he’d met his target. As the soldier stumbled back from the force of the blow, Dimitri placed one foot forward, ground it into the stone to settle his stance, and dealt the killing blow.

Stepping over the fresh corpse, Dimitri found his eye drawn to the light, glinting copper off the Sword of the Creator, as the professor deftly dispatched his opposition. It was a thing of odd beauty, wielded with a breathtaking brutality. His steps and strikes were sure, and swift, and lethal. No longer the contained strength of sparring matches from long ago. 

Watching him was oddly mesmerising. Dimitri sometimes found himself forgetting the professor’s raw power. The same terrifying strength that had enthralled him when they’d first met. Back when he’d simply been a bright-eyes boy looking upon the son of a mercenary, wielding a rusty old sword with surprising skill.

His momentary distraction almost cost him, as another soldier stepped before him, and Dimitri narrowly missed a clumsy sword thrust.

He growled, stepping bodily into the swing of his lance. The light glinted off the tip just before it buried itself in a chink in the soldier’s armour. He caught the wide-eyed terror of his eyes, which met his own in dawning horror. He drove it deeper, and those eyes turned unseeing. Hot blood spattered him.

He could no longer see the professor. He tasted sharp metal, realised it was blood. He spat, and cursed at himself for getting so easily distracted.

A demonic beast loomed in the distance, the ground shaking as it lurched into a run. Dimitri found himself moving towards it of his own accord. _Self-destructive indeed._

A weight fell upon his shoulders.

He whirled, and was faced with those bright, blank eyes. Dimitri jolted as energy thrummed through him, starting from his shoulder, where the professor gripped him, and arcing sharply through the rest of his body. It settled in spots he only now realised were wounded and bleeding. _Healing magic._

He tried to shrug the hand off and scowled when the professor tightened his grip.

“I don’t _need_-” he growled.

“I’m going to make an opening for you.” he spoke quickly, authoritatively. His eyes were blank but there was a fervor to his voice. Dimitri could barely hear him over the din of battle. “And on my order I need you to charge that thing.”

Instinctively, Dimitri wanted to wrench himself away and follow his own doomed plan. But despite the odd combination of relief and horror the thought of death brought him, logically, he knew. He could not afford to die.

And so, he nodded. The professor’s returning nod was terse, but as he turned away there was a softening about his eyes, Dimitri thought.

And then, he thought nothing as he threw himself back into the carnage.

**☾**

When it was all over, the general defeated and the battlefield was theirs, Dimitri found himself trying to listen as the professor clipped off orders for cleanup.

_I should be doing this_, some part of him said. But the rest simply sagged with the weight of exhaustion and blood and suppressed guilt - over what exactly, it was impossible to tell. 

So he simply sat slumped against the wall of the bridge, head between his knees and lance gripped tightly. Though the battle may be over, the idea of letting go of his weapon clawed panic into him.

A familiar rumble of a voice drifted through his hazy thoughts, as the hairs on his arm stood. He shivered, and clenched his eyes shut. He did not need to hear any more dead people today. The ghosts of his past always weighed heaviest on the heels of battle.

“His highness, is he harmed?”

“Ah, I’m unsure? We all took a few knocks but - _fuck_. Dedue, I - we thought you were dead.”

Dimitri knew he should look up. That was Sylvain’s voice. And, as far as Dimitri knew, Sylvain was not dead, which meant -

“Your highness.”

The voice was close now, it sounded mere steps away. Which was impossible, Dimitri reminded himself, because he’s _dead._

The metallic sound of armoured footsteps close the distance, and there, a pressure on his arm. 

Dimitri’s head snapped up. He squinted into the sudden light of day, blocked by a face that was intimately familiar and at once almost unrecogniseable.

“Dedue?” his voice was hoarse, a quiver of disbelief in those two syllables.

As his eye adjusted, he realised that yes, it was _him_, and yet, it wasn’t. At least, not the Dedue he remembered, that haunted him as yet another person he couldn’t save.

Pale scars marred what little skin wasn’t heavily armoured, slashes that stretched on the relief stark on his face. Dimitri’s mind, already heavy with exhaustion, was reeling. 

_Dedue_. He looked real, and solid. But Dimitri refused to let himself believe. Refused to relive the pain of his loss again.

Using his lance for support, Dimitri stood. Which he noted, foggily, was quite the achievement given the numbness spreading rapidly in his fingers and legs.

“Dedue.” he said, this time a whisper.

He realised, belatedly that Sylvain had followed Dedue, and was now standing behind him, eyeing them both. His expression mirrored what he felt. Eyes wide, searching for answers. As they met his, his expression softened into sympathy. Dimitri found he didn’t have the presence of mind to be bothered, let alone respond with a customary scowl.

“I apologise for taking so long to find you.” Dedue sounded… real. And utterly sincere.

Dimitri reached with trembling fingers, and the metal of Dedue’s vambrace was cold, and firm, and _there_. He ran a gloved thumb along it, feeling the dents and scratches that marked its surface.

“You’re… not a ghost, are you?” Dimitri asked around a lump in his throat. Through the sudden blurring of his vision, he thought he saw Dedue smile.

“No.”

And with that, he could taste the salt of his tears before the shaking began, trying and failing not to suddenly grip at Dedue, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of his breastplace, because he’s here, he’s _here_ and he’s alive and -

“I’ll uh, just leave you to it, then.” Sylvain’s voice broke through Dimitri’s tangled thoughts, snapping him back to his senses. “I’m gonna. Yep. Gonna go.”

Large hands took him by the shoulders, and Dedue faced him, brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a healer?” Dedue’s voice was intense, and Dimitri felt the bassy rumble of his voice. Dimitri shook his head.

“No I’m-” he tried to wipe at his face with his bracer, realised belatedly that he’d just smeared blood on his face. Too tired to care, he simply let his arm drop. “I’m fine.”

The warm pressure of Dedue’s hands lifted off Dimitri’s shoulders, and he at once found himself missing it. But just as quickly, one hand is back, the other offering Dedue's scarf. Dimitri took it, and wiped at the mess of his face quickly.

“You’re certain?” Dedue’s eyes were searching.

Handing the scarf back, Dimitri simply said, “You were dead, Dedue.”

“No.” Dedue frowned, “I… it’s a long story.”

Vision no longer blurred, Dimitri looked around at the battlefield around them. Soldiers hurried about, now intent on saving the lives of those who had made it, burying those who had not. The stench of blood was thick in the air. 

Dimitri looked back to Dedue, who, until very recently had been counted among the ghosts that haunted him in both waking and nighttime hours. Who was now, miraculously alive.

First the professor, now Dedue. It felt like Dimitri’s world was inverting, turning in on itself into something wholly indecipherable. The dead returning to life, one after another. And not simply to haunt him, but to… what?

“That’s alright.” Dimitri said, “I’ve got time.”

**☾**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An aside: sometimes my own writing cracks me up. Dimitri “talking strategy”, as if his battle strategy at this point isn’t just to hit people very hard until they die.  
Anyways, if you’ve enjoyed the story so far, feel free to let me know! I’m a tad self-conscious about the state of my writing because I... kind of don't know what I'm doing, and I’m having a hard time telling if things are coming out half-decent or not :’)  
Also we just hit 10k words! How exciting!


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